[Illustration:  A PORTRAIT BY NATTIER INSET ABOVE A FINE OLD MANTEL]

Perhaps the guest in your house would not be so troublesome, but don’t tempt her!  If you have a fireplace, see that it is in working order.  We are sure to judge a woman in whose house we find ourselves for the first time, by her surroundings.  We judge her temperament, her habits, her inclinations, by the interior of her home.  We may talk of the weather, but we are looking at the furniture.  We attribute vulgar qualities to those who are content to live in ugly surroundings.  We endow with refinement and charm the person who welcomes us in a delightful room, where the colors blend and the proportions are as perfect as in a picture.  After all, what surer guarantee can there be of a woman’s character, natural and cultivated, inherent and inherited, than taste?  It is a compass that never errs.  If a woman has taste she may have faults, follies, fads, she may err, she may be as human and feminine as she pleases, but she will never cause a scandal!

How can we develop taste?  Some of us, alas, can never develop it, because we can never let go of shams.  We must learn to recognize suitability, simplicity and proportion, and apply our knowledge to our needs.  I grant you we may never fully appreciate the full balance of proportion, but we can exert our common sense and decide whether a thing is suitable; we can consult our conscience as to whether an object is simple, and we can train our eyes to recognize good and bad proportion.  A technical knowledge of architecture is not necessary to know that a huge stuffed leather chair in a tiny gold and cream room is unsuitable, is hideously complicated, and is as much out of proportion as the proverbial bull in the china-shop.

A woman’s environment will speak for her life, whether she likes it or not.  How can we believe that a woman of sincerity of purpose will hang fake “works of art” on her walls, or satisfy herself with imitation velvets or silks?  How can we attribute taste to a woman who permits paper floors and iron ceilings in her house?  We are too afraid of the restful commonplaces, and yet if we live simple lives, why shouldn’t we be glad our houses are comfortably commonplace?  How much better to have plain furniture that is comfortable, simple chintzes printed from old blocks, a few good prints, than all the sham things in the world?  A house is a dead-give-away, anyhow, so you should arrange is so that the person who sees your personality in it will be reassured, not disconcerted.

Too often, here in America, the most comfortable room in the house is given up to a sort of bastard collection of gilt chairs and tables, over-elaborate draperies shutting out both light and air, and huge and frightful paintings.  This style of room, with its museum-like furnishings, has been dubbed “Marie Antoinette,” why, no one but the American decorator can say.  Heaven knows poor Marie Antoinette had enough follies to atone for, but certainly she has never been treated more shabbily than when they dub these mausoleums “Marie Antoinette rooms.”